


Hypochondria

by Xparrot



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Comment Fic, Friendship, Gen, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-03
Updated: 2008-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Pegasus, there's no time for paranoia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypochondria

**Author's Note:**

> A comment-fic for [The Rodney is lovely! fest](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com/223149.html?view=11369901#t11369901).

People always made fun of Rodney's hypochondria, and still do: doctors impatiently glossing over inconsistent test results, lab techs leaving lemons on his keyboard. Rodney knows his concerns can appear borderline neurotic, but it's more deliberate caution than paranoia. Looking out for himself, because who else is going to? Hypoglycemia because it was a reminder to eat something, those long nights alone in the lab, ten hours past dinner, before migraines and trembling hands could interfere with his typing; a deadly allergy because he had that reaction to lemonade when he was twelve and what if it was worse next time, and no one realized in time to get him to the emergency room (allergies could kill, orange juice in second grade and that girl with the yellow curls had stopped breathing and if the school nurse hadn't had an Epi-pen...)

Despite the rampant dangers of Pegasus, the truth is that Rodney's become less of a hypochondriac since he first stepped through the gate. In Atlantis, he's a radio call away from the infirmary, and he can count on Dr. Vogel bringing back commissary pastries for everyone when he gets his midnight snack. So when Rodney goes on about citrus or low blood sugar these days, it's mostly out of habit. He knows his teammates and fellow scientists are rolling their eyes at him behind his back, but he's used to that, too.

Besides, in Pegasus, there's no time for paranoia, between all the real threats that could kill you before you even realized the peril, and all the real wonders that could save you and everyone if you didn't hesitate too long and miss the chance to grab them; and more often than not they're the same thing. A personal shield that guards you from life as well as death; a nuclear bomb to heal the sick; a cure to bring humanity that only questioned their own humanity in the end. Rodney clings to his old neuroses because to consider the new paradoxes of Pegasus might tip himself into psychosis.

So when he wakes up in the infirmary, mumbles, "What happened?" and Sheppard tells him, "You're trying to make me go gray at forty, that's what happened, what the hell were you doing, sticking your head in that thing?" Rodney doesn't immediately demand to see his medical chart.

Instead he snaps back, "There weren't any unexpected energy readings, and the database mentioned the neural interface might cause a delayed temporary synaptic overload, and I got the system up and running, didn't I?"

"You could've mentioned 'synaptic overload' meant you were going to face-plant on the floor the moment you stepped back through the gate," Sheppard says, as if it's Rodney's fault he wasn't paying attention.

"I said it might be equivalent to a Wraith stunner, what'd you think I meant?" Rodney demands. "How long was I out, anyway? I told you it shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes, right, if it was longer—"

"Eleven minutes," Sheppard says, holding up his watch. "From when Ronon caught you as you _fainted_ ," he adds maliciously.

Ronon catching him in a swoon in front of the entire gateroom staff is still preferable to a broken nose, so Rodney lets that go for now. "Have we tried dialing back yet? We now should be able to access the satellite array through the gate, no need to go back unless it needs more repairs—where's my laptop, I have to get up to the gateroom."

Sheppard moves out of his way as he swings his legs off the bed, though he's giving Rodney an indefinable look. "Going to wait 'til the doc gets back with your scan results?"

"No need, I told you, this was an utterly expected side-effect, and if there's anything anomalous in my—oh god, there wasn't, was there? What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing," Sheppard says. "Except the doc said you ought to eat something, get your blood sugar up. Here," and he hands Rodney a Jell-o cup and spoon.

Rodney takes it automatically, then almost drops it when he sees the color. "Orange? Are you trying to kill me? These things may be mostly artificial but the 'mostly' still includes citric—"

"It's mango," Sheppard tells him, rolling his eyes as usual. But his mouth's twisting, too, and it's not until Rodney feels himself smiling back that he realizes he never understood the difference between 'laughing at you' and 'laughing with you' before.


End file.
